Below is the latest The Pain -- When Will It End?
Updated 9/12/07

Artist's Statement

For the love of the fucking. Two thousand miles through this barbarian country I traveled to arrive at this festival gargantuesque and absurd, the Man-on-Fire, to find only this: Mr. Kreider returned to his Place-Not-Revealed for the funeral arrangements of a suddenly dead friend. And yes obviously this circumstance is tragedy but the test that I supported for this man is not to believe. In the declining motels of concession I have slept every night, where machines for the manufacture of freezing cubes and the pornographic films are considered a dazzling luxury. At the grotesque restaurants I dined, everything is covered of sauce-with-the-juice, called in America "the gravy." I requested explicitly so that the sauce-with-the-juice is retained or removed but it is apparently inconceivable with the people and sauce-with-the-juice is persisting, it is inexorable. At the filling posts many kinds of up-to-now unimaginable preserved meat are available, like the teriyaki and the moose. Who that is not to die of hunger would prefer to eat moose? Only the Americans or Russians, insane people. For vast lengths there was nothing being seen but the agrarian fields and nothing on the radio being heard other than the songs sentimental and lachrymose of the rural poor and to be delirious terrible of the lunatics of Christ. My English deteriorates with the aggravation and lassitude.

My final destination was a puffed up and sorry area of the desert, a suitable place for testing of the nuclear armaments only. Here forty thousand of the annoyed met to be naked in the dangerous sun and to eat drugs of molecular structure complex and properties not tested and to listen to repetitive intolerable music, music this whomps unceasingly the night. Even the euphoric drugs consumed in dangerous amounts are forsaken to change the length of this music. People have passed the previous year preparing of the projects artistic that change considerably in the inspiration and execution. The large metal cranium is used as vehicle with the indicator red of eyes. A whole living room rises like a car with fifty kilometres per hour through the desert floor with the drinkable cocktails of people on a couch. There are domes geodesic and the rollings-up with Nikolai Tesla. There are people who to harden in mud and are called the People of Mud, like the wild creatures with sticks. There are people of pig-dog who slum in mode bucolic and drink unhealthy volumes of whiskey to consume. A man equipped like Christ on a cross motorized through the desert is assembled, and drove me out although I have ordered him to give up. The fleeing was the only alternative to this insane and threatening Jesus. There was a man who carried only the lengthy crimson American hat of a fireman and had inserted a red feather dyed in his anus. He has smiled with the pleasure and his sex was unabashedly aright. It is to despair to try to remove this image from my spirit.

Moreover a certain unknown person, a nobody or trickster clownish, exploded the Man-on-Fire prematurely, which burst to some extent to frighten and rather anticlimactic. The cost to admit for this event was not inconsiderable I can mention. There is much chattering of the Man-on-Fire to be an experimental community utopian, as the communal ground dreamed in this country, but what the majority of them resemble is the Oktoberfest naked. Moreover it must be expected that I should take part in the orgies or indicate the exposure my chest. In Europe the chests are common and uninteresting but here they are objects of sterile hilarity and lecherousness and enchant. I refuse. it is a nation of businessmen that daydream, fanatics pragmatic, well-organized hermits, of misanthropes who adore the hateful cats. I do not belong here. On my first night returned inside a declining motel of concession it was as if I remained at the Ritz, and consumed with eulogistic gusto the products of cleaning and grooming provided, miniature oils and lotion, and considered the indifferent offers of cable television with gratitude. It is time when I am returned to a country civilized.


10 September 2007

BACK TO The Pain Homepage

Webmaster's Disclaimer